


Notes

by Mafief



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Meeting, First Meetings, Greg Has a Cat, M/M, Mycroft Meddles, Phantom of the Opera Influences, Post-meeting Sherlock, Pre-Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Pre-meeting Sherlock, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mafief/pseuds/Mafief
Summary: Greg receives notes from a mysterious person he’s named Angel. Who is this Angel and why are they sending him notes?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Summer 2020





	Notes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gowerstreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gowerstreet/gifts).



> A million kudos to [SolaScientia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolaScientia/pseuds/SolaScientia) for their amazing beta work.
> 
> Your signup says you like case fics, slices of life, and character studies - I hope this ticks those boxes for you. 
> 
> I was inspired by Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera. Because of that, there are Phantom of the Opera influences and Easter eggs in the work. However, it isn't necessary to have seen PofO to understand this fic.

The note leaned against Greg Lestrade’s computer monitor like the ones before. There was no use looking around for the sender as they were never there. Greg picked up the ivory envelope with “Detective Sergeant Lestrade” written in the now familiar black ink. He flipped it over and the expected gold lining of the seams shone back at him. 

“Hey Lestrade!” said his supervisor, Detective Inspector Foster. “Don’t bother sitting down. Dead body in Croydon.” 

“Yes, sir.” Greg said, tucking the unopened envelope into his jacket.

* * *

Greg took a deep breath outside of the flat in Croydon. The smell of decay was thick and was one he didn’t think he would ever get used to. Across the hall his supervisor was updating Detective Inspector Rankin on their progress. 

They had been called in after the landlord had received a message about a suspicious smell from the flat. After failing to get an answer from the tenant, the landlord opened the flat and found it ransacked and the tenant dead. The tenant, Jared Weston, was tied up and shot multiple times. The victim had been left in a warm apartment for a few days. 

Greg turned to go back inside and saw Detective Sergeant Carlisle.

“What do you think, Lestrade? I’ve already been in and found small bag of drugs by the body. This’ll be some simple case of a low life getting in a fight over his stash and getting killed over it. Robbed him for their troubles.”

Greg wasn’t sure of that. Why was the man tied up? He had a feeling there was more to this. “What about the valuables? They appear to all be there.”

“Odds are they were too hard to sell. The robbers went for the -“

Sergeant Carlisle’s response was cut short by a tech calling his name from the door. “We found something.”

“That should be the stash of drugs now.” Carlisle wiggled his fingers into the gloves and snapped the rubber. “Let’s see if I can get us home for the match. Go tell the bosses we found something.”

Greg struggled to suppress an eye roll. Carlisle was his senior in only terms of length of time served. His most defining trait was his stubbornness followed closely by his cockiness. Greg had worked with him before and found that Carlisle’s conclusions did not account for all evidence found. It was true that Greg had fallen into that same trap before, but he would at least be willing to change to a new view and learn from it. Carlisle, well, he latched onto an idea like a bulldog and would not let go. 

Greg relayed the message and was sent to interview the neighbours in the surrounding buildings to see if they have anything to add. Maybe someone saw the killer. 

Outside Constables Jon Willis and Ian Clarke were chatting up the newly promoted Constable Anne Lane. 

Willis handed Greg an ivory note. “Here, sir. A courtier dropped this off and said to open it immediately.”

“What’s that?” asked Lane. She was bouncing slightly on the tips of her toes trying to see the note better.

“His usual post,” said Ian Clarke. “He’s always getting them no matter where he is. Rather worrisome if you ask me.” 

“And I’m not,” Greg said. 

Clarke wagged his eyebrows. “Someone’s got a fan.” 

“Who doesn’t?” Greg deflected. “We get lots of letters from crazy folks. Didn’t Carlisle have a stalker last year?”

“Sure,” said Willis, “but yours is the most consistent I’ve seen – you always get notes!”

Greg blushed. If they only knew. 

“I’m going to see if any neighbours saw anything. You all carry on doing whatever important thing you were doing.” 

They laughed and returned to their conversation. 

Away from his co-workers, Greg scanned the corners of nearby buildings until he spotted it. Staring directly into the CCTV camera, he held up the note and then immediately stuffed it in his pocket. He will work it out without Angel’s help.

* * *

Greg’s day ended with no new information from the neighbours. There were still a few neighbours he could interview, and hopefully they would give him a lead. The techs had found a lot of cash in a paper bag under the bed. It wasn’t the drugs Carlisle was expecting, but it was still a stash of cash. 

Greg opened the door to his flat and was greeted by a trill followed with a meow. He leaned down and scooped up a calico cat. He nuzzled at her schizoid face -half black and half orange- and she meowed at him again. 

“Hey beautiful. What have you done with your hours alone, little Lottie?”

Lottie meowed. 

“Oh, very interesting. I bet you’d like dinner.”

She meowed and squirmed. Greg released her and she circled around his legs. Greg took out his keys and placed them near his answering machine. The light was blinking and he pushed play. 

“Hey, it’s me.” The voice was his ex-wife’s. “I found some tapes and I think they are the ones from that show you liked. I’m going to throw them out. Call me back if you want them.”

That message was deleted quickly. He wasn’t sure what she was talking about and didn’t want to be sucked into another argument. 

“Hey Greg, it’s Dan. I ran the test you wanted. I got some free time over lunch tomorrow if you want to talk.” The machine beeped. 

Greg retrieved one of the notes and his tiny planner from his pocket. He pencilled in a reminder to visit Dan tomorrow and returned it to his pocket.

“Maybe I’ll finally get some more answers about who you are, Angel,” Greg mumbled to the ivory note as he turned it over in his hand. He opened the note and found the usual ivory card with its neatly printed writing. Today’s note asked, “What do you know of the different soil types around London? – A.” He was not going to study soil types in the middle of this case, and decided to ignore this one.

In the beginning Greg was concerned he’d picked up a stalker or one of his co-workers was pulling a prank on him. As more notes appeared, all signed with the letter A, he realized that this person was helping him. The tips, questions, and scraps of newsprint often guided him to a new line of inquiries in an investigation. He ruled out stalker. Greg would get the occasional glimpse of the person behind the letters. The writing style and tips indicated that his letter writer was smart, probably genius level, and posh. They both shared the same opinion of Carlisle, and Greg knew that none of his co-workers fit that profile. What he couldn’t answer was why someone was bothering to write him notes.

Somewhere along the way Greg started calling the writer Angel. He realized the name was also a form of endearment. He looked forward to seeing what Angel would say and would smile like an idiot after reading some of the notes. That said, he would also get bitterly annoyed at some of them and consider never opening another one. So, they had a complicated, albeit one-sided, relationship. 

Greg was curious about Angel and used his resources to discover Angel’s identity. He dusted for prints and found none. Greg had the ink analysed and it was from a manufacturer of high-quality inks. So his angel had a thing for nice stationery. The surveillance to catch whoever was leaving notes at his desk ended with a snarky note from Angel explaining that Greg would find them when they chose to reveal themselves. Greg eventually pieced enough clues together that it was someone on the other side of the CCTV. He hoped they were on the good guys’ side. 

A meow and head bump into his leg brought Greg back to the present. “I forgot to feed you. Let’s get dinner.”

Cat and himself fed, Greg opened his second note; it wasn’t often he got two in one day. The second note was the one he had received at the crime scene. The note read, “Wasn’t robbery. Did he have any interesting tattoos? -A”

Looked like he was going to the morgue tomorrow morning.

* * *

The first thing Greg did when he got in was to check for any new notes at his desk - there were none - and then he got permission from his boss to visit the morgue. Dr Tobias was in the middle of an autopsy when he entered the room. 

“There is polydactyly as evidenced by the extra phalanges on the left foot,” said Tobias and he walked over to his recorder and pressed stop. “Sergeant Lestrade, good to see you. Did you know that 2.3 of 1000 people in the UK has polydactyly?”

“I did not. How are you these days? Still counting down to retirement?”

“There are ninety-three days left. They better find my replacement soon if they want me to train them. If I had my way, I would hire Dr Hooper.” 

Greg wasn’t sure who Dr Hooper was, but hoped he was as competent as Tobias.

Tobias striped off his gloves. “Now, I bet you are here about the victim that was brought in yesterday. Here’s his report.”

“Did you find anything of interest?”

“There was a tattoo. Let me show you.”

Tobias rolled the victim out of cold storage and showed Greg the tattoo. On his chest was a clover with FAMM inside it. 

“Thanks,” said Greg, a little stunned. It shouldn’t surprise him anymore when one of his Angel’s hints was the clue he needed. “Can I take this photo?”

Tobias gave Greg a fatherly smile. “You can take the file; it’s a copy. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.”

* * *

As soon as Greg returned to the Yard, Foster called a meeting to update him on the data they had collected thus far. Seeing all the evidence together could point them in a new direction.

“It could be a coincidence,” said Carlisle, pining the photograph of the tattoo on the board. “He could have seen that tattoo and wanted it on his chest.”

Greg shook his head. “If it was just a clover, I would agree with you, but FAMM stands for Family Affiliated Malus Mafia. Are they usually active in the area where Weston was killed?”

“That it isn’t their usual turf,” said Foster. “FAMM mostly works Harrow. They specialize in the usual: gun trafficking, contract killing, and drug trafficking.” 

“So, the shooting makes sense because they have access to illegal guns,” said Carlisle.

Foster tapped the picture of the victim’s tattoo. “We need can get Trident on board. They usually work the gang related crimes and might have info on this case. Lestrade, follow up on the FAMM angle and contact Trident. Carlisle, find out about his family and who is missing him. Bring any new developments to me immediately.”

* * *

At lunch time Greg took the elevator down to Dan’s office. 

From the door Greg saw Dan staring intently at the computer monitor that took up half of his desk. Greg knocked and Dan’s gaze shot up to his. Dan smiled and waved him in. 

“Greg, I’ve only got a moment, so I have to skip the pleasantries today.” Dan sorted through a huge pile of folders occupying the other side of the desk that wasn’t taken up by the monitor and opened one. “The good news is I could isolate enough DNA to get positive results from the test.” 

“I’m guessing there’s bad news?”

“It’s not the results you were hoping. They don’t match to anyone in our database.” Dan propped his elbows on his desk. “Our ability to match is only as good as the database we have. What I can tell you is that they aren’t in there and any relatives aren’t in there either.”

“Are these results useless then?”

“No. Bring me sample and I can see if that sample belongs to them or not.”

Greg frowned. He didn’t have a candidate for his mysterious angel. “I’ll let you know when I find someone.”

“One last thing, I used a couple of markers for the Y chromosome. They came up positive, so your mystery person has a Y chromosome.” 

“Meaning?”

“There’s a high chance they are male. That should rule out a few people, right?”

“Sure,” Greg lied. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem. Let me know if you have anything else to test for this side project.” 

They shook hands and Greg left. While not what Greg had hoped for, he did learn that his angel was a he.

* * *

Greg’s morning was filled with fruitless interviews. Discouraged, he travelled back to the yard to find lunch from the canteen. It was the middle of lunch service when Greg arrived and most of the tables were filled with chatting police. He mentally reviewed the case as he ordered a pukka pie and another coffee. He wanted time to himself to think and was thankful that a table in the corner was unoccupied. 

As he settled in, he overheard Jon Willis ask, “What’s this about a ghost?”

Greg, like many others, was curious about this so-called ghost who roamed around the yard. People swapped stories like they would trading cards, each story more embellished than the next. He preferred calling the ghost a phantom since they were all likely imagining this apparition. 

“Well, go on, Sally,” said Ian Clarke. 

Sally leaned over the table a little more. “My friend said she heard someone walking out of the chief’s office early this morning and when she went to investigate no one was there.” 

Jon waved away the comment with his chip. “It’s just the spooks. They swarm in on the direction of some head spook and take whatever they want.”

“Have you seen the head spook? The really tall fellow,” said Sally. 

“Not directly, but he stalks around the corridors and all you ever see is his shadow and the click of his cane.”

Ian shook his head. “You’ve got that wrong - it’s an umbrella. I’ve seen it open when he’s standing in the shadows by a crime scene.”

“If he’s in the shadows, then how come you could see ‘is umbrella?” asked Sally. 

“Shut it, you. I know what I saw.”

It was an umbrella. Greg had seen that shadow lurking at different crime scenes.

“When I saw him last exiting the Chief Super’s office was right before Griffiths got sacked.” Ian said. “It was before your time, Sally. He was aiding gun traffickers.”

John quickly swallowed his chip. “That was coincidence; Griffiths was going to get caught for being a dirty cop and it just happened to be then.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Greg noticed Sally looking at him. “Hey Lestrade, you’ve been here long enough, what’s your thoughts on the ghost?”

“It’s just a story they tell the new recruits. There is no phantom.” Greg stood and started cleaning his place.

“Ah, you’re no fun,” said Ian. 

Greg pulled on his hair. “All my fun left when my hair turned grey. That’s something for you to look forward to”

They laughed and Greg quickly exited the canteen. He had heard all these stories before, and they had added nothing new. He was no closer to identifying this mysterious head spook than he was with Angel’s identity. He told himself that his time was better spent on his current cases. 

At his desk Greg just started the long process of waking up his computer when Foster waved him over. 

“Lestrade, the chief wants to see you later. Work on paperwork until you have your meeting.”

* * *

Greg nervously played with his fingers outside the Detective Chief Inspector’s office. He reviewed the paperwork he’d completed and didn’t think it was wrong. He wasn’t any more behind than the next overworked cop. 

The door opened. “Sergeant Lestrade. I’m ready for you now.” 

Greg jumped to attention and looked down at the slightly shorter man. “Yes, sir.”

The middle-aged man with mostly grey hair led him into his office. He gestured to the uncomfortable wooden seat across from his desk. “Have a seat, Lestrade.”

“You asked to see me?” Greg’s voice wavered slightly and he inwardly scowled. 

“I did. I am retiring and one of the detective inspectors will be promoted, so we’ll be looking to hire a new inspector.”

“I didn’t know that, sir.”

“It’s just been cleared today. You or Carlisle are the next logical choice for the promotion.”

“Me?”

The chief inspector opened a file. “You’re in your third year, passed your exams with high marks, and have shown that you are dedicated and proficient. You’ve learned quick and your colleagues like you.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Greg was not sure what else to say. He was planning on applying, but not until next year. 

The chief looked over his glasses. “Assuming that you are interested?”

“I am.”

“Good. Apply and see what happens.”

* * *

The Trident clerk dropped an impressive stack of papers in front of Greg and said in her high nasally voice, “We don’t have the staff to sort through it for you, but this is all we have for FAMM.”

“Thanks,” Greg’s voice lifted at the end. “Can I take these files with me?”

“No.” She stuck out a finger at him. “Just because you are from CID doesn’t mean you can take our files. The copier is in that nook. Use the conference room over there.” The clerk pointed vaguely in a direction while she was turning away from him. 

Greg clenched his jaw and then picked up the stack. The conference room welcomed him with dampness and the smell of mould. He spread the files across the large wooden table and got to work.

Hours and multiple cups of bad coffee later, Greg found the list of known gang members. How up to date the list was was unclear, but Greg was sure the victim wasn’t on the list. Perhaps he was a new member? 

There was a knock on the conference door that disturbed his thoughts and the clerk appeared. She looked annoyed and Greg wondered what he else he had done besides breathing the same air as her. 

“This was dropped off for you,” she said.

Greg stared at the note the clerk was holding out for him. “Who?” Greg’s voice was shaky. 

“Some young lady - never seen her before.” The clerk looked at him expectantly. “Well? Are you going to take the note or not? I’ve got things to do.” 

He realized he hadn’t moved and quickly reached up to take the ivory note. The clerk gave him another irritated stare and left.

How did Angel find him here?

Greg opened the note and read, “Carlisle will never find anything. Check dental records.”

He laughed. “Sure, Angel, I’ll get right on that.”

Greg stretched and started cleaning up the files. He stopped when he got to the list of members again. Maybe chatting with Dr Tobias tomorrow morning wasn’t such a bad idea.

* * *

Greg was late to after-work drinks at the pub. He was sure he still smelt of mould from that dungeon of a conference room where he had spent his day. He spotted Carlisle and a couple of other sergeants sitting around a table. They spotted him and waved. 

“You know Rankin is going to be promoted?” asked the sergeant to Greg’s right. 

“Give the man a moment to drink his beer before pouncing on him, Shephard.”

Greg took a sip and then said, “I’ve heard.”

“They’ve opened up the inspector position for internal candidates first and I’ve applied.” Carlisle gestures to them all. “You lot could all be working for me.”

Greg’s smile wasn’t genuine. “You poor bastard.”

“Ha! Never mind, I should find a new sergeant – you lot have far too many bad habits for me to break.”

Carlisle was playfully shoved and some of his beer sloshed over the top of his glass. 

“The raise would be nice,” Carlisle continued. “I’m not looking forward to the increase in responsibilities, but I’ll take it since the pay is better. I’d go to some remote town if the pay was better, but London pays the best.”

The other sergeant who Greg thought was named Cameron spoke up. “You’re stuck with us!”

Shephard raised his glass. “Here’s to you getting the next round when you get your fancy promotion.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Greg decided that it was better to keep it to himself that he had also applied and drank while he waited for the conversation to turn to football.

* * *

Greg hung up the phone clumsily and nearly tripped over his feet when he tried to stand up. Foster’s door was closed, which was usually a sign that he did not want to be disturbed, but this couldn’t wait. He knocked and opened the door to find Foster on the telephone. 

Foster looked at him confused and said, “I’ll need to call you back.” And he hung up the phone. “Well, what is it?”

“Look.” Greg thrust the paper at Foster. “This is a list of the current gang members; our victim isn’t on it.”

“Ok,” Foster said disapprovingly. “I’ve already seen this and showing me could have waited 5 minutes for me to be done.”

“No, no. I just got off the phone with Dr Tobias. Our victim had extensive dental work to repair multiple broken teeth. The work matches the records of Cole Barlow. Barlow got into a bar fight and someone punched his mouth in.”

“And Cole Barlow is on the list.”

Greg smiled. 

“Work with Carlisle to find as much information as we can about Cole Barlow.”

“Yes, sir.” Greg nodded and turned to leave.

“Hey, Lestrade, good work.”

Greg smiled again and left to find Carlisle. 

He found Carlisle with his feet on his desk eating a bag of crisps. 

“Someone’s got a bee in their bonnet,” said Carlisle around a mouth of crisps.

“We need to find all the information we can on Cole Barlow.”

Carlisle moved his feet to the floor and sat up straighter. “Who’s that?”

“I’ll fill you in later, just pull everything you can find.” Greg set to work enjoying that sweet rush he got when things were coming together.

* * *

Greg had left late and gotten in early to work on the Barlow case. There was only a brief period where Greg was not at his desk, but Angel had managed to leave him a note. It was “Carlisle has again shown himself to be an idiot.” Greg had nearly choked on his coffee, causing the one other co-worker who was here early to give him a concerned look. Well, his angel was opinionated. Greg wondered what had caused Angel to send him that. Putting that thought aside, he focused on the tasks he had left from last night.

As the morning wore on, the room became louder as more of Greg’s co-workers arrived. Carlisle was focused on the paperwork on his desk. Greg was on his second cup of coffee when Foster called them both into his office.

“Tell me what you got.”

Greg cleared his throat. “Barlow was one of FAMM’s drug dealers. He was high enough in the organization to be directing the activities of other drug dealers, but low enough that he was still taking orders. I’m still sorting through the hierarchy of that organization. Barlow went off the grid last year. We think he moved to Croydon to be closer to his sister.”

Carlisle cut in, “We have located the sister and she has agreed to come in later today. On the phone she was shocked and said that Barlow was done with the gang. He wanted to change, to really improve himself. We’ll get more information when we see her.”

“Good. Carlisle, lead the interview and see what you can get from her. Lestrade, work on finding the gang members responsible.”

* * *

A week later Greg was with his co-workers at the pub. The cover band was loud which meant any conversations had to be yelled. He was trying to blow off some steam after a frustrating week. He had been watching hours of CCTV looking for a car or someone from the gang and had found nothing. He re-questioned the neighbours and they didn’t recognize any of the pictures of the gang members he showed then nor remember any suspicious people in the area.

Shephard lifted his glass to Greg and leaned in close so he could be heard. “Cheers to one hell of a week.”

“We’re all just living the life.”

“What?” Shephard looked confused.

Greg gave up. He lifted his drink and smiled. “Cheers.”

Fate, or whoever, had mercy on them and the band took a break. Greg could still hear the ringing in his ears.

Carlisle slapped his hands on Greg and Shephard respective shoulders and stood between them. “Don’t look so glum. It’s time to celebrate! The next round’s on me.” Carlisle was beaming. 

Shephard was well into his third beer and not quite comprehending what was going on. “While I’m all for spending your money… Why?”

“You call yourself a detective. I’ve been promoted. I’m now Detective Inspector Willard Carlisle.”

The sergeant that Greg still didn’t know the name of raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

Greg felt blind-sided. He didn’t know that the decision had been made. On top of his terrible day, Greg was sure he couldn’t feign happiness through another round. A knot had formed in his stomach and it was slowly growing and making him feel sick. He needed to leave. He quickly downed the rest of his drink. “Congrats Carlisle. I gotta run and feed my cat.”

At home he quickly stripped to pants and a vest, grabbed a glass and the scotch from the top cabinet, and flopped onto his couch. He wasn’t on duty tomorrow and could do something he would regret in the morning. He poured himself a drink and didn’t pay attention to Lottie meowing at him for dinner. 

He felt pathetic. Christ, he was pathetic. Why had he let the Chief Super talk him into applying? He hated to admit it, but he really wanted that job. There would be other detective inspector jobs – he needed to be patient and survive Carlisle as his superior. That thought sent a shudder through him. 

Lottie put her paws on his leg; he looked down at her with dazed eyes. She trilled and looked at him expectantly. He gave in and patted his lap as the cue for the cat to sit on him. She took the invitation.

“Your owner’s pathetic, Lottie. Middle-aged. Divorced. Burying himself in work with not much of a social life.” She put her paws on his chest and sniffed his nose before sneezing. Greg laughed. “Probably doesn’t smell so good.”

She curled herself on his lap and he mussed the fur on the top of her head. She started purring and looked up at him with heavily lidded mismatched eyes and blinked. He felt his heart constrict. He had gotten Lottie right after his divorce and they were companions longer than he had been married. 

While Lottie was a good companion, Greg was lonely and wanted to talk to someone that wasn’t a cat. That left Angel. So far it was most stable relationship he’d had recently, not including his cat. It was one sided, but Greg had wondered if that was all Angel wanted. Would they get along or not? From the small glimpses of personality in the notes, Greg thought they would, but that just might be wishful thinking on his end. 

Greg wanted his drink even more, but realized it sat too far for him to get without disturbing Lottie. Greg huffed. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Lottie stretched and re-settled into a better position. 

As he stroked Lottie’s orange and black fur, he was struck with a thought: would it be possible to contact Angel? He hadn’t tried before. He knew that Angel had access to the CCTV system and likely monitored him. Ignoring how illegal that invasion of privacy was, he might be able to use that to his advantage.

* * *

Greg jogged to the side of the pavement out of the way from other pedestrians. He was less focused on stretching than his search for CCTV cameras pointed his way. He found one. He stopped stretching, took out the wrinkled cardboard sign from his pocked and held it up over his head as he stared at the camera. He counted down ten seconds and ignored the strange looks he was receiving from others. He was used to it after the hour he had spent repeating this action to as many CCTV cameras that he could find. Countdown completed, he stored the note and took off again on his normal jogging route through the park. On the other side he stopped at the next CCTV and repeated the process. 

The plan was simple. He would run through his normal route, hold a sign for Angel to read, hope that he read it, and wait for him to call. Greg wrote “contact me” and his number with thick black permanent marker. He reassured himself that this approach would work. Based on Angel’s previous actions, Greg was sure that Angel monitored Greg through the CCTV system. When Greg tailed a target, he would know the target’s normal habits. Angel knew his habits based on his ability to deliver notes to him no matter his location.

Greg knew his actions were slightly out of his normal and his angel liked puzzles. This might be enough to intrigue Angel and get him to call him. 

Greg passed by an old phone box and heard a ring. That wasn’t surprising because anyone could call a phone box and the numbers were printed inside the box. Greg kept walking and the next phone box he he was about to walk by also rang. 

Greg smirked and enters the box to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“You have my attention.” 

“Good. Call me at home.” Greg quickly hung up. Adrenaline hit his system and he took in a deep breath. He had Angel’s attention now, and now he had to keep it. He waved at the CCTV and headed home.

As soon as he opened the door to his flat his telephone rang. 

“Yes?”

“I have other things to do than watch you jog home. Why did you want me to call?”

Greg got his attention, best not string him along too much. “Because you have sent me notes for months now, and I want to know the person who is sending me notes.”

“There is not much I can tell you.”

“That’s fine. Besides, it’s more convenient to call than turning into some apparition to leave me notes.” Greg hoped that appealing to Angel’s highly rational side would win Angel over.

“I’m not a ghost.”

“Figured that. As a fellow member of those with flesh and blood, try calling.”

“I will consider it.”

Greg listened to the dial tone before hanging up his telephone. He had been right; Angel was posh and male. His tone was calculating and in control. It wasn’t for the first time that Greg had wondered what Angel did for a living. Greg liked the voice he heard and hoped he would hear it again. But, he had done as much as he could do in that matter. Now he needed to wait for Angel to decide.

* * *

Greg repeated “I will be pleasant. I will smile.” as his internal mantra for the week. It saw him through attending the retirement party for Rankin, watching the cleaners tidy up the room, and listening to Carlisle boast at the pub. 

Greg could see Carlisle’s new office from his desk, and he couldn’t help noticing what Carlisle was doing. The furthest Carlisle had gotten to moving into his new office was to bring in some boxes. He was busy with new duties and they took him away from his office for long periods of time. After a few days those boxes left. Greg expected new boxes to take their place, but none arrived. He soon realized that he hadn’t seen Carlisle since the boxes left. 

Greg knocked on Foster’s office and was waved in. “Sir, have you seen Carlisle?”

Foster was marking up paperwork with a pen and not looking up from it. “He’s gone. Got a new job that needed him to start immediately. Guess he liked that job better.” 

Foster stopped and finally looked up at Greg. “I was told that you applied for the inspector position.”

“I-I did, yes.”

“I had hoped that you did, but you’ve been closed lipped about the application and I didn’t know.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’ve got a right to do things as you like, but I would have liked to know so I wouldn’t have been blind-sided when they asked me about you. Don’t worry; I gave them a glowing review. I just heard they were offering the position to you.”

Greg blinks. “Are you sure?”

Foster smiled at him. “You have a meeting with the Chief Superintendent later to make it official. Remember to act surprised.” 

Greg spent the rest of the day stunned and went through the motions of filling out paperwork while not remembering what he had written down. He wasn’t sure if this was really happening. 

After the meeting where the super did confirm his promotion, Greg was ecstatic. He couldn’t stop from smiling. On his desk he found another note that said, “We will see what you can do.” Greg crumpled up the note, suddenly feeling very dirty. What did Angel do? 

After most of his co-workers left for the night, Greg set to work on his new sign. Angel had not giving Greg his number, but the sign method had worked previously to establish contact. Greg carried the finished sign out into the rain to the nearest CCTV. This one was pointed at him. He held his sign high and at an angle, so the lamp light made it visible. It wasn’t going to last long in the rain, but hopefully it would be long enough. The occasional pedestrian huddling under their umbrella paid him no attention; he was just another crazy person in this city. The minutes tick by and he slowly became drenched as he continued staring at the camera. 

Well past the time when Greg’s arms had started cramping, the phone rang in the nearby phone box. He nodded at the camera before jogging over to pick up the phone.

“Good evening.” It was the same voice from the weekend, and it sent a shiver down his back.

“I was promoted to detective inspector today.”

“Congratulations on your well-deserved success.”

“You already knew before I called, didn’t you?”

“If you say so.”

“I haven’t accepted the job yet.” 

“Your reason for wanting to reach me was to tell me this?”

Greg snorted. “No. What did you do to Carlisle?”

“You are assuming I have the power to do something about him.”

“You have enough power to remain undetected while leaving me notes and follow me with the CCTV.” Greg spoke slowly and enunciated every word. “I need to know what happened.”

Angel sighed and spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. “If I said Detective Inspector Carlisle was offered a job that would better utilize his talents in another location, would you believe me? A small town needed a new chief inspector and the increase in pay was an acceptable incentive.”

Greg pressed his fist into his forehead and closed his eyes. “Christ, I shouldn’t take the job.”

“You were offered it on your own merit. Seniority is an outdated system to choose whom to promote.” Angel scoffed. 

“Why me? Out of all the other officers, why did you choose me?”

There was no response. 

Greg took a deep breath. “No more of whatever you did. I need to do this myself. My team needs to trust me - not think that I am some puppet.”

“Is that all?”

“No. You still haven’t given me your number.” Greg forcefully hung up the phone. He wadded up his soaked sign and tossed it into the bin. He needed to walk, to move, to clear his head. The rain was still coming down, but he didn’t really mind because he was already soaked. His conversation with Angel didn’t make Greg feel better about his position. He wanted to be in London. Greg was born in London, grew up in London, and planned to stay. Carlisle wasn’t connected to this place; he went where the pay was the best. As he walked, he turned the information over and over in his mind. 

At the end of Greg’s soggy commute home, he had come to some peace with his situation. He would have gotten the job next time there was an opening. This situation only accelerated the timeline, which should mean everything was fine. Everyone got what they wanted in the end and no harm was done. Yes, everything was absolutely alright. 

* * *

Greg started transitioning to his new job and tried to stay away from the new phantom rumours. New rumours of new sightings were spreading as rapidly as the common cold during the winter months. With each retelling, the story to became more outrageous than previously. Greg was especially amused by the ones that claimed they had a large hat and mask. Some rumours were connecting Carlisle’s move to the phantom scaring him off or blackmailing the chief. While Greg only nodded and listening to the rumour, this one caused him to pause. Perhaps this phantom and his angel were working together. That might explain how his notes arrived in the building.

* * *

Greg shut the door to his new office blocking out most of the noises from the sergeants working at their desk. His office was now his temporary escape from that chaos. The office needed more personal touches as it was mostly empty even after he moved in, but it was his space for now. He already had piles of paper on his desk. He supposed there would be more of that as he settled into his job. 

He sat behind his desk and took one of the top files; it was from the Cole Barlow case. He had continued investigating and kept it in his undetected pile. He was unwilling to have it go under review and be placed in the cold cases. He started flipping through the papers when his phone rang. 

“Lestrade.”

“Good morning,” said Angel. 

Greg sat back in his chair and slowly smiled. He hadn’t heard from Angel in a couple of weeks and had been concerned that Angel would no longer communicate, notes or telephone call, with him. He had been rather rash in their last conversation.

“Hi, Angel.” Greg froze. He didn’t mean to say that; he really didn’t. He hid his face in his hand and waited. With each second that ticked by, he felt the blush on his face increase.

“You call me Angel?”

Greg realized he had been holding his breath and exhaled. “I do. Calling someone by a letter is too impersonal. I could call you something else, like your name.”

“ ’A’ will suffice.”

“Then I’m callin' you Angel.”

“I prefer you not.”

“You’re Angel until you provide me with a name that isn’t a letter. And you can call me Greg.”

“I will call you Lestrade.”

Greg laughed. “I guess I deserve that. Did you call to just say hi?”

“No. I am giving you a number where I can reliably be reached.”

Greg wrote down the number Angel provided. He had a number. “When can I call you?”

“My schedule is unpredictable. I will answer when I can. You are welcome to leave a message and I will call back when I am available.”

“Same as mine. We’ll make it work.” Greg was going to make the effort and learn whatever he could about his angel. His first step would be to add that number to speed dial on his house phone.

* * *

The first time Angel had called Greg’s work phone, Angel had tried a facsimile of his notes. There was no small talk and he started in on suggested that he investigate the sister’s whereabouts on the Henegan case that Greg and his new team were investigating. The victim, Terry Henegan, was found dead in his flat still wearing his muddy work boots. After listening to Angel’s tip, Greg had tried to get Angel to open up and joked that this must had been faster than leaving notes. Angel had agreed but admitted to missing planning the logistics.

Despite his busier work schedule, Greg found himself smiling and laughing more. He looked forward to hearing Angel’s opinion on a particular case or event. Angel’s voice was captivating, and Greg enjoyed just listening to him talk. 

Greg had gotten home late and immediately called Angel while he warmed up his food. Angel offered his advice on a current case and Greg took notes while watching his dinner warm in the microwave. Greg switched the phone from one ear to the other taking care to not get tangled in the cord as he removed his dinner from the microwave. “We could chat.”

“Chat?” asked Angel.

Greg quickly set the hot food on the counter and shook his hand to try to cool it. “Yes, chat. I called to chat. It’s when one person talks about something unimportant and the other responds. I’m guessing you don’t do this a lot?”

“I chat, but it’s usually to persuade one party to my point of view.”

“Any mates at the pub?”

“No.”

Greg leaned against the counter and let that comment sit. Angel was probably as isolated as he. “Well, why don’t we try it. I’ll tell you something about my day and you can tell me something about yours.”

“There is not much I can tell you about.”

“I’ll start first and let you think of something.” Greg started to uncoil the telephone cord. “Met the new coroner today. Molly Hooper. She’s smart, awkward, but nice. She looks so young. When did I get to be this old?”

“Ageing is one thing we can count on people doing.”

Greg stopped twirling the cord around his finger. “Hey, how old are you?”

“I’m younger than you.”

“By...” Greg hoped he would fill in the blank.

“Only a few years.”

“Good, so we could get a drink down at the pub and I wouldn’t need to arrest myself for bringing a minor.” Greg let go of the cord and took out a fork from the drawer. 

“Meeting in person is not advisable.”

“Yah, I know. You mentioned that before. I can always check.” Greg stabbed at his slightly cooler food. “Your turn. You tell me something about your day while I eat.”

“I should let you enjoy your meal in peace.”

“No, you aren’t getting out of it this easily. Tell me something.”

“I had meetings with people who have too much power and too little sense, thus ensuring I will be travelling all of next week.” Angel sounded weary.

“Do you want me to wait to call when you get back?”

“You can continue leaving messages and I will return them when I can. I do need to attend other matters now.

“Before you go, I need to know: how did you get the notes to my desk?”

“I asked the other celestial beings for help.” Angel’s tone was mischievous.

Greg laughed. “Fine, don’t tell me, mister mysterious-and-dramatic Angel.” 

They hung up. Greg reviewed the conversation as he ate. He realized he was flirting and he thought he heard Angel reciprocating. He was certainly interested in pursing that further.

* * *

His team was analysing the footwear from the Henegan case, and it was taking longer than Greg preferred. Greg had found he was less productive when his supervisor was anxiously breathing down his neck, so he tried to give his team room to work. He shut himself in his office and was planning his team’s schedule when his phone rang.

“Did you ever determine the soil types at different locations throughout London?

“Hello, Angel. And no, I did not.”

“Pity, it would have helped with your new investigation.”

Greg groaned. “Ok fine, since I didn’t do my homework, why don’t you tell me what I should be looking for?”

“For what I should be looking.”

“Fine, teacher. I feel properly schooled. You should come to my office and teach me about soils. Better yet, take me to a proper dinner so I can get out of my team’s hair and not drive them around the bend.”

“You would want to go somewhere with me?”

“Yah, of course. Would like to get to know you a bit better too.”

Greg’s door opened and one of his sergeants peaked in. “Sir, we found something.”

“I be right out.” He turned his attention back to ending his phone conversation with Angel.

* * *

Greg stretched out on his couch with his telephone to his ear listening to Angel talk. Greg had spent time in the pub with his co-workers celebrating the closing of the Henegan case. The sister’s husband would be spending a long time behind bars for killing Henegan. Now at home, Greg was enjoying his pleasant buzz. He was extremely content and felt like he was melting into the couch.

Because his eyes were closed, he didn’t see the ball of black and orange hop onto his chest causing him to startle. “Oof. Well, hey gorgeous.”

Angel abruptly stopped. “Excuse me?”

“I’m talking to my cat - she jumped on my chest.” Greg scratched Lottie’s head and she purred. Greg said offhandedly, “If I saw you, I would call you gorgeous as well.”

“Most likely not.” There was a hint of sadness to Angel’s tone.

Greg’s alcohol induced sluggish mind sharpened a bit. “I would need to see you to confirm my opinion.”

“That you would.” 

Well, that was an improvement from an immediate dismissal. Greg decided to press. “Is there a Mrs Angel?”

“Considering I’m not an angel, no.”

“You know what I mean. Have you ever been married?”

“I’ve focused on my work.”

“Is that some super-secret spy code for can’t marry because of some vow?”

“I’m unaware of that particular vow, maybe I could make a suggestion in future meetings.” Angel’s voice was playful. 

Greg cupped the cat’s face. “Hear that, Lottie,” he said in a mock whisper. “I am talking to a spy.”

Angel gave a long-suffering sigh. 

Greg swallowed. It was the perfect time to ask. “Did you date?”

“When I was a teenager. I soon learned that my interests were not the same as my peers. After confirming my discovery, it was easier to engage in it in a limited fashion.”

“What was your discovery?”

Greg sat up a little, dislodging Lottie from his chest. She gave him a dirty look and settled on his legs. While watching the cat drama unfold on his body, he waited for Angel’s reply. Greg had quickly learned that when Angel was not going to answer something, he would remain silent. Angel was remaining silent now. Time for a different tactic.

“What does your file have about me? It must have that I was married, but does it have who I dated as a teen?”

“It might.” Angel was cautious. 

“It should have the two girls I dated during my teens and the one before my ex-wife?”

“Does it matter if the file contained those records?” There was just a hint of disappointment in Angel’s tone.

Greg shrugged even though he knew Angel couldn’t see him. “It might, I wouldn’t want it to be lacking.” 

“How thoughtful for your consideration with these hypothetical records.”

“To ensure that these hypothetical records are accurate, does it include that my tastes also swung the other way?” Greg was fairly sure he stopped breathing while he waited for the reply. 

“That information in the hypothetical records was inferred, but not confirmed.

Greg knew he heard hope in Angel’s voice, so he continued. “I didn’t openly date the men, I didn’t want to get into that kind of trouble as a teen, but I did later.”

Greg heard a door open and a muffled voice from Angel’s side.

“I am afraid I am being pulled away by other obligations.”

Greg looked at the time; it was almost midnight. Angel’s job was even more demanding than his. “I understand. I’ll call you later.”

* * *

Greg’s head smarted from the day before. His conversation with Angel played over and over. He had thought it went well, but the more he thought of it the more embarrassed he became. It was best to push it aside and focus on his work. He went to work and his team was called in to investigate a murder. On the scene, Greg walked around observing his team working. He spotted his team’s newly promoted Sergeant, Sally Donovan, and waved her over. He asked, “What do we have here?”

Donovan lead him to the area where the victim was found dead in the alley. “A 20-year-old male was shot and then stabbed multiple times around 11:30 last night. The gun wound was most likely not fatal, and he likely died from the stabbings. Witnesses said they saw someone in a dark hoodie running away from the scene.”

“Were either murder weapons left at the scene?” asked Greg. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a constable walking towards him very quickly. He turned his attention to them. 

“Sir, we are holding a man wearing a dark hoodie who has information about this crime scene.”

“Donovan, see what information you can get from the techs. I’ll check this out.”

Greg saw a skinny slip of a man in his early twenties with curly mop of dark hair that had not been washed in a while. His clothes were loose fitting and ratty. As he got closer, he noticed that the man was very twitchy. 

Greg addressed the constable. “Who’s this?”

The constable sneered at the man. “He wouldn’t say.”

“I was explaining to your idiot of a constable that he needed to let me into the scene. Instead this dim-witted fool detained me.”

That wasn’t going to endear him to anyone. “Why don’t you explain it to me.”

The man huffed. “The murder weapon, not the gun, but the knife, should be under the skip.

“How do you know this information?”

The man looked at him suspiciously. “Before you ask, no, I did not see the crime. I observed it. I was doing something else...” The man trailed off. “There were two sets of footprints leading away from the scene. One much smaller than the other and likely female. She’s the one who stabbed the victim and tossed the knife.”

Greg took his torch out and shone the light in the man’s eyes, the pupils remained small. “We are going to detain you for further questions.”

“You can’t do that.”

“We can because you are high.”

“I am perfectly fine, and I’ve told you enough.”

“Of course you are,” Greg waved to the constable and they took the man away in the back of a panda car. He would drop the charges later, but perhaps having this man off the streets would keep him safe for the night and let him detox a bit.

After processing the scene, Greg went to check on the man. He was right – there was a bloody knife under the skip. In a cell, the man was sitting with his knees tucked up under his chin. Greg had the door opened and he went in.

“You were right; we found the knife where you said it would be. What’s your name?”

“Sherlock.”

“Well, you look hungry. Come with me and I’ll get you something to eat.”

Greg led Sherlock to the canteen. Maybe Greg could get some nutrition in the skinny git and learn more about him.

* * *

Later that night Greg called Angel as usual. They had not discussed Greg’s drunken conversation, and Greg wasn’t going to bring it up today. Lottie had made herself home on his lap and he was petting her fur as he talked. “I met someone today. He reminded me a lot of you.”

“Should I be jealous? Is he leaving you notes?”

“Ha, no. Some kid who we caught hanging around the crime scene. He was rude as anything, calling my team idiots, but he knew things about the crime that he shouldn’t know. Offered clues, like you do, and was scarily smart. He seemed to warm up to be a bit and gave another hint. We’ll see if he’s right.” He gave Lottie’s head another scratch. “Your turn, anything interesting happen to you?” Greg waited for Angel to reply and heard nothing. “Angel?”

“Oh, sorry,” Angel said distractedly. “I am being pulled away by other obligations. Are you planning on calling again tomorrow?”

“Most likely, but my team is on call. I’ll call if I can.”

“Of course, good night.”

Greg hung up the phone and crossed his arms. Occasionally Angel had to leave abruptly, but something seemed off about his tone this time.

* * *

Later that week Sherlock showed up at the Met uninvited and asked to see Greg. It was more of a demand and his staff was about to throw him out when Greg came down to bring Sherlock back to his office. Greg watched Sherlock sit and be unable to sit still. He was practically vibrating with energy. He seemed to no longer be able to contain the energy and popped up from the chair and began pacing. 

“I was right about the case, wasn’t I?” 

“Yes, you were. It was brilliant.” 

“Can I investigate another?”

Something caused Sherlock to stop and he pounced on a file on his desk. 

“Don’t touch that.” Greg tried to snatch it back, but Sherlock was quicker and immediately opened the file and began reading.

“You never solved this one.”

Greg stood and was trying to get around his desk quickly and hanged his thigh on the edge. He groaned. “Not yet, but I will.”

Sherlock was absorbed by the file and didn’t look up when he said, “Give me this one.”

“No, it’s mine.”

“And you have tried and gotten nowhere. You saw what I could do on the other case; this one might actually get solved.”

“You know what? You stay clean for a month and I’ll let you investigate this one. I will check on you and see how you are doing each week. You keep clean and I’ll find something else for you.”

Sherlock was trying very hard not to show how pleased he was, but Greg noticed the new spark in his eye.

“Leave the file on my desk and do something productive.” Greg picked up a binder from his shelf and thrust it at Sherlock. 

“What’s this?”

“The manual we give new recruits about how not to muck up a crime scene.”

* * *

Greg arrived at Sherlock’s flat for his usual check-in. Sherlock had stayed true to his word and kept clean. The month was over, and Greg brought copies of the Barlow case. Greg let himself in the front door of the building Sherlock lived in and took the stairs to Sherlock’s flat. As he approached the top of the stairs he heard voices and stopped to listen. The baritone was Sherlock and he was angry. Something crashed and shattered against, presumably, a wall. There was another voice, low and calm. That voice... He knew that voice, but why was it here? 

He reached the top of the stairs and knocked on the door. The voices stopped. 

“Sherlock, I know you’re in there. I’m checking in on you, as we agreed.”

He turned the doorknob and entered. Sherlock is curled sideways in a ratty armchair with his hair half covered in a hoodie. Standing facing Sherlock is a man wearing an impeccably tailored suit holding an umbrella. He was tall and lean, and even from the back Greg could tell his dark red hair was thinning.

“You have surprisingly good timing,” moaned Sherlock. “Escort this man away for trespassing. He is not wanted here or anywhere near me.”

“Sherlock, stop being dramatic,” said the man and he slowly turned around and his look of shock was quickly schooled. 

Then it clicked – Greg had seen this man before, walking down the halls of Scotland Yard and in the shadows of crime scenes. “I know you.”

Sherlock’s head popped up and he slowly rose from his seat. “Are you mixing with the goldfish, brother mine?”

“Brother?” Greg willed the man to speak. He was sure it was Angel but needed him to speak again. The man Greg thought was Angel stood there looking as if he was staring down a firing squad.

“Never mind that, I see you brought the file.” Sherlock stood next to his brother. They were both so bloody tall and giving him the same look. 

“Not talking about the file now.” Greg clutched the file tighter to his side. “Your brother?”

“Why am I repeating myself? Yes, he is my brother and arch-enemy. Consider yourself lucky if you never see him again.”

Sherlock’s brother’s veneer cracked, and he rolled his eyes at his brother. “Sherlock, this is not the place to bring up childish feuds.”

He knew that voice, he was absolutely sure that this man in front of him was his angel. Greg asked, “Angel?”

“Hello,” Angel, who was also Sherlock’s brother, said. 

“You’re the phantom. The one lurks at the edges of crime scenes, no one as seen properly, the head spook?”

Angel looked amused. “Is that what they call me?”

Greg was still processing this revelation. Of course, Angel was that phantom. It all seemed so obvious now and Greg felt even more the fool. “Is that what you two do? Manipulate some pathetic idiot of a copper into doing your business?”

“At least your admitting that you’re an idiot,” said Sherlock.

Angel gave Sherlock a glare. After the brief time Greg had known Sherlock, Greg was sure he had perfected that look from it being used often. Before Angel could speak again, Greg cut in. “What’s your end goal, Angel? Get him on my crime scenes so he can manipulate the evidence to whatever fits your agenda the best?”

“You’ve said Angel twice. Did you make that up or did he suggest it?” Sherlock mocked.

Angel rolled his eyes. “Brilliant, antagonize him further why don’t you.”

“Shut it, you two.” Greg growled out. They both look at Greg with mild shock. 

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, if you would permit me to explain.” Angel’s voice was smooth and diplomatic. 

Greg couldn’t comprehend the switch from being petty with his brother to this polished speaker. He could manipulate and lie, what else had Angel done to him? Greg needed to leave. He could not listen to that voice that had captivated him for so long. “No. No, more talking and explaining from you. I’m through listening to you.”

“That’s not-“

“And you’re talking again. No, no more.” He growled out. “Sherlock, you are not to show yourself at any of my crime scenes ever again.”

“What! You’ve shown you can’t solve them.” Sherlock pointed to the folder. He spun to face his brother “My-“

“Thank you, Sherlock. That will be quite enough,” cut in Angel sharply. “What do you want?” His voice softened back to that smooth voice Angel used before, and it infuriated Greg further.

What did Greg want? “To be left alone. No more.”

* * *

The next day, Greg was still fuming from the encounter with those Holmes brothers. He woke up early and ran until his legs ached. He felt like an idiot for letting himself be used. 

They were both exasperating. 

On the way home, He stopped by the shop to pick up food for dinner. Arms full of groceries, he entered his dimly lit flat and sat his groceries on the kitchen table. Something felt off and he turned to see a dark figure on his couch. Adrenaline shot through his system. 

“There is no reason for alarm, Detective Inspector.” The voice was smooth and confident and Greg knew exactly who it belonged to. 

The figure reached over and turned on the light to reveal Angel sitting one leg over the other in his three-piece suit like he belonged there. Lottie was laying down pressed against his legs contently purring as he stroked her head. He looked every bit the Bond villain and the thought almost made Greg laugh. 

“You know breaking and entering is a crime?”

No-longer-his-angel smiled back. 

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose and said tiredly, “What do you want? I am very close to bodily removing you from my flat.”

“To explain.”

Greg’s gaze was hard as he stared at Angel. “I don’t want an explanation.” 

“Very well. I came to apologize.”

That was not what Greg was expecting. He was not in a charitable mood, so he crossed his arms and said nothing. 

Angel uncrossed his legs and shifted to the edge of the couch, letting his arms rest on his legs. The movement upset Lottie and she yawned and left. “You asked why I chose you and I am here to explain. At the end of the explanation if you want nothing more to do with me, I will leave.” Angel paused and his expression became more open. “Whatever your judgement of me, don’t take out your feelings towards me on Sherlock. He’s been doing better after he started finding a use for his intellect. Let Sherlock continue working with you, please.” 

Greg’s eyebrows rose. He was pleading. This from a man who probably never pleaded. “Give me something so I can trust you.”

“My name is Andrew Mycroft Matthew Holmes. You may call me Mycroft.”

“Mycroft.” Greg tried out the name in his mouth. “Is Sherlock your brother’s real name?”

“Part of it. His name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

“Your parents had a thing for long names.”

Mycroft gave a mirthless laugh. “Among other eccentricities.”

“So, why me?”

“I was profiling sergeants for work related purposes.” 

Greg cut in, anger flaring up again. “To find ones you could blackmail or manipulate?”

Mycroft continued his speech in his level voice usually used when he was explaining something to Greg. “To assess the current talent pool and determine if there were anyone with talents we could leverage. So, no, not just looking at those for blackmailing.”

“And how were you going to leverage me for whatever it is you do? Or am I not allowed to know?”

“I work in government.”

“I figured that much out myself, thank you very much. The rumour around the yard is that you’re the head of intelligence.”

“Not the head, but heavily involved. My goal is not so different from yours: I protect the nation’s interests and her people. I am involved in whatever needs my talents.”

Greg tapped his foot. “That still does not answer my question: why me?”

“Sherlock calls you the best of a bad lot. I would agree. I believe you could solve them on your own. You only used the help when you needed a new direction.”

“You watching over me was strictly professional interest?”

Mycroft fidgeted slightly with his fingers. “In the beginning it was, but it became more personal. You were interesting. I… was becoming attached. I wanted something more. Your unconventional method of asking me to call was conveniently timed.”

“So I was a convenient distraction? One that you could play this joke on and be made a fool?”

“That was not my intention.” The fidgeting increased.

Greg suddenly understood. “You like me?”

Mycroft exhaled. “Yes. From our conversations I suspect you like, well, liked, me.” 

“Were you ever going to let me meet you?”

“Eventually.”

Greg started pacing. “There need to be changes. No more lurking in the shadows giving the staff something to spread rumours about. No more watching me through the CCTV. No more notes. No more meddling with my cases. No more reassigning people so I get a promotion.” 

Mycroft looked slightly admonished. “Do you have any more demands?”

Greg stopped pacing glared at him. “No.”

“What would you like of me?”

“I don’t know.” Greg shrugged. He was still hurt and upset. “Give me time.”

Mycroft acknowledged Greg’s request with a nod and stood to leave. “Should you come to a decision, the number I gave you will reach me. I believe there is no reason to limit our contact to only telephone calls and notes.

Greg pressed his lips together and made no other acknowledgement. 

At the door Mycroft turned. “I have no right to ask this, but continue to work with Sherlock, please? Think whatever you want of me, but Sherlock should not be held accountable for my actions. He approached you without my knowledge.”

“I can’t make that decision now.”

Mycroft nodded and left.

* * *

For the next month, Greg’s life fell into a routine of work, playing with Lottie, eating, sleeping, and repeat. There were no strange phone calls or notes, no new rumours of the ghost, no umbrella holding shadow at the edge of his crime scenes. The CCTV cameras did not track him. Mycroft had done as he said. 

He allowed Sherlock to work on the Barlow case. Using resources that Greg was sure were the homeless, he had tracked down the Barlow’s killers to the heavy muscle in FAMM. The gang’s policy was to kill any deserters, and Barlow’s attempt to leave was interpreted as desertion. 

Sherlock continued to stay clean and Greg found him more cases to work on. Eventually, he arranged a meeting between Molly and Sherlock, to see if she would let Sherlock into the lab. He hoped this would provide another distraction for Sherlock’s overactive brain. 

Throughout it all Greg felt off. Something would happen during his day and he would immediately think to call Angel, and then he remembered. Greg had saved the notes and started to re-read them. To his surprised, he started to miss receiving these and talking with his former angel. 

At home, Greg would sit by the phone and contemplate whether he should call Mycroft’s number again. Each time he didn’t call and wasn’t sure he could take that step to call. About this time, Lottie started a new habit. She would bat the telephone off the receiver and push some of the buttons with her paw. If he didn’t notice, she would start meowing until he replaced the phone. Then she would then look at him expectantly as if she had done something worth praising. 

That morning, Lottie was repeating her habit and meowing pathetically at the phone. Greg was brushing his teeth when he looked out, and he quickly spit and brought his toothbrush with him. Greg picked up the phone and realized it was connected. 

“Hello?” he asked.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade,” said an unexpected and very familiar voice.  
Greg pointed his toothbrush at the cat who proceeded to roll on her side and look up at him. She was very proud of herself. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you, Lottie?”

“Your cat called me?”

“She’s been acting strange and pushing the phone around. I haven’t taken your number out of speed dial and she must have pushed the right buttons.”

The three of them sat in awkward silence. 

“Ang-“ Greg cut himself off. “Mycroft.

“Yes.”

“I appreciate that you’ve done what I asked.” Greg twirled the toothbrush in his fingers. Summoning up some courage, he asked “Does your offer still stand?”

“It does.”

“Dinner at 8?”

“That can be arranged.” Greg was sure he could hear the smile in Mycroft’s tone. “As ong as Ms Lottie says it is appropriate.”

Lottie meowed.


End file.
